JENNIE
Just stop! I want to scream at the two of them. I can't keep up with them fighting this way. I can't keep up: time doesn't make sense in this state that I'm in. Everything is out of order. There are slamming doors and my mother and Lisa arguing—and it's all so hard to hear—but mostly there's just darkness dragging me under, pulling hard . . .
At some point I ask Lisa, "Yes, what about Rosé? Did you hurt her?" At least, the thoughts are there, and I'm trying my hardest to say them. I'm not sure if they make it out of my mouth or not, if my mouth is coordinated with my mind.
"No, it's Lisa. I'm Lisa, not Rosé."
Lisa is here, not Rosé. Wait, Rosé is here, too. Isn't she?
"No, Lisa, did you hurt Rosé?" The darkness is tugging me in the opposite direction of her voice. My mother's voice enters the room and fills it with her authoritarian air, but I can't make out a word. The only clarity I have is in Lisa's voice. Not even her words, but how it sounds, how it moves through me.
At some point, I feel something push under my body. Lisa's arm? I'm not entirely sure, but I'm lifted off of the couch as the familiar minty scent fills my nostrils. Why is she here, and how did she find me?
Only seconds later I'm gently laid back on the bed, then I'm lifted again. I don't want to move. Lisa's shaky hands push a shirt over my head, and I want to scream at her to stop touching me. The last thing I want is to be touched, but the moment Lisa's fingers brush against my skin, the disgusting memory of June is erased.
"Touch me again, please. Make it go away," I beg. She doesn't reply. Her hands keep touching my head, my neck, my hair, and I try to lift my hand to her, but it's too heavy.
"I love you and I'm so sorry," I hear before my head rests back on the pillow. "I want to take her home."
No, leave me here. Please, I think to myself. But don't go . . .